


Stranger Than We Can Imagine

by not_rude_ginger



Series: The Andorian Tales [2]
Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Depression, Gen, Isolation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-27
Updated: 2015-02-27
Packaged: 2018-03-15 12:44:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3447665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/not_rude_ginger/pseuds/not_rude_ginger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Isolation is never easy, but it’s always worse when you’re surrounded by people.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stranger Than We Can Imagine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hearts_blood](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hearts_blood/gifts).



> Written back in 2012 because hearts_blood is very good at waking up my plotbunnies and giving me writing games that actually work. 
> 
> I'm posting it now because I've been meaning to for a while, and the passing of Leonard Nimoy has me very sad, so I decided to go through all my Star Trek fics and sort which are worth posting here to keep me from crying any more.

Shran watched his human crewmates as they argued over what the floating bit of rock looked like.

“It’s a bear.”

“It’s two horses running.”

“What minor planet are you looking at?”

“What do you think T’Pol?”

“I fail to see the relevance of this speculation.”

“Ah! Shran, help us out.”

As one they all looked at Shran who was standing some way back on the bridge, trying not to feel his hands curl with the desire to snap someone’s neck. He shrugged.

“I’m not one for star gazing… or boulder gazing in this case.” His voice was low, descending into tones of aggression he ought not to be feeling. Not with these aliens anyway…

It had been a long time since he had been surrounded like this, and all he could think of whenever someone touched him was that he ought to flinch from the inevitable pain of an electrical jolt. But he refused to cower in front of these people.

These people… people he trusted.

These people, who weren’t his people.

At the moment… that was all he could think of.

The disappointment was evident in Archer’s eyes. He wanted Shran to interact more with the crew, but he found himself pulling more and more away. The last time at least there had been other Andorians around. But here… he was alone. Andorians were never meant to be alone.

His eyes were drawn to the minor planet, which had been thrown out of its native asteroid belt and was adrift, alone…

Shran reared up and span around on his heels, striding off the bridge. As the lift descended he leaned on the wall, breathing heavily. He was so far gone he was seeing his own misery in a dead bit of cold lava.

He thumped his head against the bulkhead. He could easily imagine the bridge crew now, complaining, maybe even laughing, about their strange new crewmate who refused to make nice and get along with them.

They had no idea who was on their ship.

It was a relief to get into his quarters, at least here he could retreat to a more comfortable temperature, where his things were, his people’s presence could be felt.  The silks of his sheets and his informal clothing had been woven by the hands of his people. His prized book made from strips of dried tuber root held the laws of Andoria inside it. It was particularly special because it had been written in his own blood –you could leave a pint of it into the guild that made the books and they would write it out in the traditional way with the blood being mixed with other ingredients to make ink. His Clan’s crest was on the front cover, made of silver metal and blue and pink gemstones. Shran would lay his Ushaan-tor next to it at night, both reflective surfaces glinting from the shooting stars passing his window at ‘night’.  Sleep was not a familiar companion to him at the best of times. Here it was almost… alien.

Shran pulled off his clothes and stepped under his shower, the temperature as high as it would go, faintly reminding him of long swims in the geothermal pools. He closed his eyes and brought up the echoes of sensation of Telev standing behind him, slim hands caressing his shoulders and rubbing away the tension. He remembered Talas’ bright eyes as she ran her short nails over his flesh, supposedly scraping away any and all dirt.

The memories were pleasing, but he was in no mood to rise to the occasion. It was more about comfort of their presence, so he slipped easily from those memories to memories of bathing in pools on Andoria and other worlds with his crew on the Kumari, and his bond brothers on other occasions. Shran sagged against the glass of his shower door and his eyes glazed over as he remembered washing the dust and Vulcan blood out of Tholos’ hair as they hunkered down in a small pool with Keval and Thon, trembling with fear of being caught and dragged back from where they had escaped from. They had slept in a huddle that night, not daring to hope that they might be free of the tyranny of the Vulcans.

Abruptly the echoes fled from him and he was left alone again. The breath caught in his throat and he sagged even more, feeling weak.

‘Archer to Shran!’

Shran jumped and looked around stupidly, before realising the voice had come over the comm. He pulled himself up and leaned out of the shower to press the button.

“Shran here.”

“Can you come to my quarters? I’d like to talk to you.”

Shran grimaced as he muttered, “Yes sir.”

It irked him no end that Archer was his superior now. He respected the man, he trusted the man, he even liked the man… but he was not only a good deal younger than him, actually half his age, but he was an alien. Shran was coming to terms with the idea of seeing aliens as his equals… but he still tensed every time Archer gave him an order. It was becoming progressively worse with passing time.

He dressed quickly and made his way to the Captain’s quarters. He was off duty, so he chose to wear his own clothing as opposed to his Starfleet uniform that gave him a rash. He could tell Archer saw it as a rebellious gesture the moment he saw the silk shirt.

“Come on in. Drink?”

Shran nodded, accepting the peat whiskey that smelled like a burnt forest, and wasn’t as burning as Ale. Archer sipped at his own, seated on his bed with his dog’s head under his hand. Shran sat down slowly on the chair opposite him, cradling the glass in his hands. Archer scratched Porthos’ ears and leaned forward, which Shran knew meant this was not going to be a good conversation.

“Shran… is there something wrong?” he asked quietly.

Shran kept his eyes on his drink, but extended his antennae forward so Archer knew he was paying attention.

“What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean. You’ve become insular and distant in the last few weeks. And I’m not the only one to notice, T’Pol expressed concern for you, and so has Trip.”

Shran’s antennae reared back at the idea that a Vulcan was concerned for him. It was not in their nature to care about anyone. It was not in their nature to be concerned for Andorians.

“Shran!”

Shran looked up in surprise, realising he had drifted off into his mind and not answered Archer’s question. Archer looked genuinely worried now.

“Shran, if there is something bothering you, you know you can tell me.”

Shran tilted his head to the side, narrowing his eyes, and taking a mouthful of his drink.

“No.” he said at last.

“No?”

Shran met Archer’s eyes, leaning forward, crowding the pink-skin. Archer shifted back a little. Humans and Vulcans might think they were distinct and different, but they were frustratingly similar. Their sense of private space was something Shran could not understand, and could not handle for much longer. He was beginning to ache from the lack of Andorian contact. Hands on arms, shoulders, necks… on the Kumari everyone had known everyone’s body intimately, even the bonded Actives, just because Andorians did not shy from touch on any part of the body. The context meant everything, and the touch’s location did not. Humans, however, were more wary. They read meaning into a touch of hands as romantic, a touch of hips as inappropriate. Shran had recently grabbed Ensign Sato by the hips to move her out of the way. Both she and Commander Tucker had flushed and looked shocked at his actions. Shran had not even thought about it, he had been used to swatting a crewmember on the thigh or hip to make them move aside. Now… he dare not make any physical contact for fear of causing distress. It was maddening.

Shran blinked and realised he had been glaring at Archer for too long without speaking again. He shook his head and said,

“I am just preoccupied. There’s nothing wrong.”

“Preoccupied… is that all? Trip says you’ve gone from being personable with the crew to minimising your interactions to strictly business.”

“Is there something wrong with my conduct?” Shran demanded irritably.

“No… but you don’t seem very happy.”

Because I’m not, Shran wanted to snarl. But he said nothing, swirling the amber liquid. Alien liquid, in an alien glass. He set it aside, feeling ill.

“If there’s nothing else…?” he said, straightening his back.

“Shran, your wellbeing includes your happiness and I know you well enough to-”

“You don’t!” Shran snarled before he could stop himself getting to his feet. Archer sat back in surprise.

“I don’t? Don’t what?”

“Know me. You don’t know me.”

“Shran we’ve known each other for five years.”

“We have met briefly once a year when pressing concerns forced us together or a chance crossing of paths. When we were both under strain and urgency. That may have been enough for us to learn each other’s true nature… but you do not know me. You do not know my life, my personal self… not enough for you to know me well enough to determine anything.”

“Maybe not… but I can guess.” Archer stood up and regarded Shran with narrowed eyes. “You’ve never been away from your people like this before, have you? You’ve never been the only Andorian in the room for so long… you miss your people.”

“That does not take a genius pink-skin.” Shran was in no mood to be pacified. “But you are not Andorian. You don’t know what it means to be this far from my people for so long…”

“I know it’s not easy. Maybe I don’t know your past… maybe I don’t know if you ever had a pet, or what your favourite colour is… but I’m not blind. I know you’re finding it hard to be here… everything is different… and even the interactions you’re used to… aren’t the same.”

Shran looked at Archer who shrugged, “Trip told me about the incident with Hoshi.”

“I did not mean any harm… but consider the lesson learned.”

“That’s not what I meant. We know you meant no harm… and just like we learned to respect and manage T’Pol’s sense of personal space and Phlox’s preference for privacy… we can learn to manage your sense of familiarity.”

“Manage?” Shran repeated dully, clenching a fist at his side.

Archer gave a sheepish smile, “I meant… we don’t expect you to adapt and we not to. We’re perfectly capable of learning how to be… a bit more Andorian… if you give us half the chance.”

“You’ll never be Andorian.” said Shran shortly. Archer’s smile fell. Shran sighed and forced his hand to unclench. “But maybe you can learn how to treat me like one.”

“No higher respect for you… is there?”

“Everything I’ve done has been to protect and defend my people, not only from death but to ensure they will always be able to be what they are.” Shran hesitated and then decided he ought to be cooperative, so he murmured, “There was a time when I was denied that ability… that right. Worst five years of my life.” That I can remember, Shran thought to himself, clenching his fist in anger at the memory of that green blooded monster that robbed him of something so vital. He met Archer’s eyes and pushed it aside, “ So… yes Captain. There is no higher respect for me.”

Archer nodded and reached out a hand, resting it on Shran’s shoulder… and leaving it there. His skin was far too cool for it to warm Shran’s skin. But there was a sense of warmth that spread through Shran and he felt his body relax a little. He inhaled and exhaled slowly, relaxing a bit further. Archer smiled and squeezed his shoulder before dropping his hand.

“Hungry? I think Chef’s been playing with your dietary requirements again.”

Shran grimaced, “Oh… lovely.”

Archer chuckled, “I’ll try it too?”

Shran tilted his antennae towards the human speculatively, then smirked, “Deal.”

Archer sighed and nodded, “Great.”

They left Archer’s quarters and entered the lift to take them to the mess. As they stood waiting, Shran spoke.

“A Zabathu.”

“What?” Archer looked at him in confusion. Shran smiled,

“The minor planet… it looked like a wild zabathu.”

Archer looked thoughtful for a moment, then said quietly, “Huh… I’ll take your word for it.”

Shran smirked, feeling his spine straighten and he sighed, “Good.”

**Author's Note:**

> Despite only being a recurring character and from what is pretty much the least popular version of Trek, Shran is my absolute favourite character, and since he and his culture were very much blank slates, it gave me an excuse to do what I liked with them.
> 
> If you enjoy my work please feel free to [buy me a cup of coffee](http://ko-fi.com/notrudeginger)


End file.
